t the prince with
his short-sighted, bloodshot eyes. The latter was so astonished, that he
did not reply, but looked steadily at him in return.

"Lef Nicolaievitch!" interposed Madame Epanchin, suddenly, "read this at
once, this very moment! It is about this business."

She held out a weekly comic paper, pointing to an article on one of
its pages. Just as the visitors were coming in, Lebedeff, wishing to
ingratiate himself with the great lady, had pulled this paper from his
pocket, and presented it to her, indicating a few columns marked in
pencil. Lizabetha Prokofievna had had time to read some of it, and was
greatly upset.

"Would it not be better to peruse it alone..." later asked the prince,
nervously.

"No, no, read it--read it at once directly, and aloud, aloud!" cried
she, calling Colia to her and giving him the journal.--"Read it aloud,
so that everyone may hear it!"

An impetuous woman, Lizabetha Prokofievna sometimes weighed her anchors
and put out to sea quite regardless of the possible storms she might
encounter. Ivan Fedorovitch felt a sudden pang of alarm, but the others
were merely curious, and somewhat surprised. Colia unfolded the paper,
and began to read, in his clear, high-pitched voice, the following
article:

"Proletarians and scions of nobility! An episode of the brigandage of
today and every day! Progress! Reform! Justice!"

"Strange things are going on in our so-called Holy Russia in this age of
reform and great enterprises; this age of patriotism in which hundreds
of millions are yearly sent abroad; in which industry is encouraged, and
the hands of Labour paralyzed, etc.; there is no end to this, gentlemen,
so let us come to the point. A strange thing has happened to a scion
of our defunct aristocracy. (DE PROFUNDIS!) The grandfathers of these
scions ruined themselves at the gaming-tables; their fathers were forced
to serve as officers or subalterns; some have died just as they were
about to be tried for innocent thoughtlessness in the handling of public
funds. Their children are sometimes congenital idiots, like the hero of
our story; sometimes they are found in the dock at the Assizes, where
they are generally acquitted by the jury for edifying motives; sometimes
they distinguish themselves by one of those burning scandals that amaze
the public and add another blot to the stained record of our age. Six
months ago--that is, last winter--this particular scion returned to
Russia, wearing